THE  HANGING  OF  THE  CRANE 


HENRY 

WADSWORTH 

LONGFELLOW 


yg^cs^eM^ouc^^ 


HOUGHTON  MIFFLIN 
AND  COMPANY 

BO  S  TON  &  NEW  YORK 
MDCCC  CVII 


COPYRIGHT    1874  BY  HENRY  W.    LONGFELLOW 

COPYRIGHT   IQOZ   BY  ERNEST  W.    LONGFELLOW 

COPYRIGHT   1907  BY  HOUGHTON,   MIFFLIN  &  CO. 

ALL   RIGHTS    RESERVED 


Staclf 
Anns* 


in  us  tra  ti  onsby~ 
Arthur  I.Keller 

0  O  O 

Designs  'by  <  —  -^_; 
Florence  W  Swan 


PUBLISHERS'  NOTE 


THE  centennial  of  the  birth  of  Henry 
Wadsworth    Longfellow    has    been 
deemed  a  proper  occasion  for  present 
ing  a  new  illustrated  edition  of  "  'The 
Hanging  of  the  Crane."    An  interesting  account 
of  the  origin  of  this  poem  is  given  by  Mr.  T.  B. 
Aldrich.    He  says :   "  One  morning  in  the  spring 
of  \%6y,  Mr.  Longfellow  came  to  the  little  home 
in  Pinckney  Street  \J$ostori\,  where  we  had  set 
up  housekeeping  in  the  light  of  our  honeymoon. 
As  we  lingered  a  moment  at  the  dining-room  door, 
Mr.  Longfellow  turning  to  me  said,  l  Ah,  Mr. 
Aldrich)  your  small,  round  table  will  not  always 
be  closed.    By  and  by  you  will  Jind  new  young 
faces  clustering  about  it ;  as  years  go  on,  leaf 
after  leaf  will  be  added,  until  the  time  comes  when 
the  young  guests  will  take  fight,  one  by  one,  to 


build  nests  of  their  own  elsewhere.  Gradually  the 
long  table  will  shrink  to  a  circle  again,  leaving 
two  old  people  sitting  there  alone  together.  This 
is  the  story  of  life,  the  sweet  and  pathetic  story  of 
the  fireside.  Make  an  idyl  of  it.  I  give  the  idea 
to  you.'  Several  months  afterward,  I  received  a 
note  from  Mr.  Longfellow  in  which  he  expressed 
a  desire  to  use  this  motif  in  case  I  had  done  no 
thing  in  the  matter.  The  theme  was  one  peculiarly 
adapted  to  his  sympathetic  handling,  and  out  of 
it  grew  '  The  Hanging  of  the  Crane'  ' 

The  illustrations  in  this  volume  have  the  his 
torical  Craigie  House  in  Cambridge  for  their 
background,  —  the  house  where  the  poem  was 
written,  where  all  the  poet '  s  children  were  born, 
and  where  most  of  the  scenes  touched  upon  in 
the  poem  were  enacted  in  his  own  family  life. 
The  artist  visited  the  house  and  made  his  draw 
ings  from  the  very  room  in  which  Longfellow 
hung  his  own  crane  in  1843.  ^e  box-bordered 
garden  was  planned  by  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Long f el- 


low  ;  the  porch  was  the  one  from  which  departed 
the  first  of  their  children  to  become  a  bride ;  and 
the  beautiful  staircase  makes  a  Jit  setting  for 
the  golden  wedding  picture.  All  the  text  decora 
tions  are  Colonial,  the  motif  of  many  being  taken 
from  Craigie  House. 

4  Park  Street,  Boston,  February,  1907. 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


GATEWAY    TO    CRAIGIE   HOUSE 

Half  title 

LOVE    HANGS   THE    CRANE 

Half  title  to  Part  I 


THE    POET'S    REVERIE 


THE   TWO    ALONE 


THE    ROYAL    GUEST 


THE    FIRST    BIRTHDAY 


Part  I 


Half  title  to  Part  II 


Half  title  to  Part  III 


Part  III 


THE    BROTHER    AND    SISTER 

Half  title  to  Part  IV 


YOUTHS    AND    MAIDENS 


Half  title  to  Part  V 


THE    FAMILY 


THE    BROOK 


THE    BRIDE'S    FAREWELL 


Part 


Half  title  to  Part  VI 


Part  VI 


THE   TWO    ALONE   AGAIN 


Half  title  to  Part 


THE    GOLDEN    WEDDING 


Part  VII 


- 

VJirUUlJtAJlJUlAAAJUlTAAJl^^ 

HANGING  OF  THE  CRANE 


lights   are   out,  and  gone 
are  all  the  guests 
That    thronging    came    with 
merriment  and  jests 

To  celebrate  the  Hanging  of  the  Crane 

In  the  new  house,  —  into  the  night  are  gone  ; 

But  still  the  fire  upon  the  hearth  burns  on, 

And  I  alone  remain. 


FORTUNATE,  O  happy  day, 

When  a  new  household    finds    its 

place 

Among  the  myriad  homes  of  earth, 

Like  a  new  star  just  sprung  to  birth, 

And  rolled  on  its  harmonious  way 

Into  the  boundless  realms  of  space  ! 


|O  said  the  guests  in  speech  and  song, 
As  in  the  chimney,  burning  bright, 
We  hung  the  iron  crane  to-night, 
And  merry  was  the  feast  and  long. 


ND   now    I    sit   and    muse   on 
what  may  be, 
And  in  my  vision  see,  or  seem 

to  see, 

Through    floating    vapors    interfused    with 

light, 

Shapes  indeterminate,  that  gleam  and  fade, 
As  shadows  passing  into  deeper  shade 
Sink  and  elude  the  sight. 


\OR  two  alone,  there  in  the  hall, 
Is  spread  the  table  round  and  small  ; 
Upon  the  polished  silver  shine 
The  evening  lamps,  but,  more  divine, 
The  light  of  love  shines  over  all  ; 
Of  love,  that  says  not  mine  and  thine, 
But  ours,  for  ours  is  thine  and  mine. 


HEY  want  no  guests,  to  come  between 
Their  tender  glances  like  a  screen, 
And  tell  them  tales  of  land  and  sea, 
And  whatsoever  may  betide 
The  great,  forgotten  world  outside  ; 
They   want   no   guests  ;    they   needs 
must  be 
Each  other's  own  best  company. 


ft 


HE  picture  fades  ;   as  at  a  vil 
lage  fair 

A  showman's  views,  dissolving 
into  air, 

Again  appear  transfigured  on  the  screen, 
So  in  my  fancy  this  ;  and  now  once  more, 
In  part  transfigured,  through  the  open  door 
Appears  the  selfsame  scene. 


EATED,  I  see  the  two  again, 
But  not  alone  ;   they  entertain 
A  little  angel  unaware, 
With  face  as  round  as  is  the  moon, 
A  royal  guest  with  flaxen  hair, 
Who,  throned  upon  his  lofty  chair, 
Drums  on  the  table  with  his  spoon, 
Then  drops  it  careless  on  the  floor, 
To  grasp  at  things  unseen  before. 

RE  these  celestial  manners  ?  these 
The   ways    that   win,    the   arts    that 
please  ? 

Ah  yes ;   consider  well  the  guest, 
And  whatsoe'er  he  does  seems  best ; 
He  ruleth  by  the  right  divine 
Of  helplessness,  so  lately  born 
In  purple  chambers  of  the  morn,. 
As  sovereign  over  thee  and  thine. 


He  speaketh  not ;   and  yet  there  lies 
A  conversation  in  his  eyes ; 
The  golden  silence  of  the  Greek, 
The  gravest  wisdom  of  the  wise, 
Not  spoken  in  language,  but  in  looks 
More  legible  than  printed  books, 
As  if  he  could  but  would  not  speak. 
And  now,  O  monarch  absolute, 
Thy  power  is  put  to  proof;   for,  lo ! 
Resistless,  fathomless,  and  slow, 
The  nurse  comes  rustling  like  the  sea, 
And  pushes  back  thy  chair  and  thee, 
And  so  good  night  to  King  Canute. 


S  one  who  walking  in  a  forest 

sees 

A    lovely    landscape    through 

the  parted  trees, 
Then  sees  it  not,  for  boughs  that  intervene ; 
Or  as  we  see  the  moon  sometimes  revealed 
Through  drifting    clouds,  and    then    again 
concealed, 
So  I  behold  the  scene. 


0  t 


J   >fV 

A 


^ 

1|  HERE  are  two  guests  at  table  now ; 
The  king,  deposed  and  older  grown, 
No  longer  occupies  the  throne,  - 
The  crown  is  on  his  sister's  brow  ; 
A  Princess  from  the  Fairy  Isles, 
The  very  pattern  girl  of  girls, 
All  covered  and  embowered  in  curls, 
Rose-tinted  from  the  Isle  of  Flowers, 
And  sailing  with  soft,  silken  sails 
From  far-off  Dreamland  into  ours. 
Above  their  bowls  with  rims  of  blue 
Four  azure  eyes  of  deeper  hue 
Are  looking,  dreamy  with  delight ; 
Limpid  as  planets  that  emerge 
Above  the  ocean's  rounded  verge, 
Soft-shining  through  the  summer  night. 


Steadfast  they  gaze,  yet  nothing  see 
Beyond  the  horizon  of  their  bowls ; 
Nor  care  they  for  the  world  that  rolls 
With  all  its  freight  of  troubled  souls 
Into  the  days  that  are  to  be. 


:    -A. 


GAIN  the  tossing  boughs  shut 
out  the  scene, 

Again  the  drifting  vapors  inter 
vene, 

And  the  moon's  pallid  disk  is  hidden  quite ; 

And  now  I  see  the  table  wider  grown, 

As  round  a  pebble  into  water  thrown 

Dilates  a  ring  of  light. 


K   I  see  it  garlanded  with  guests, 
As  if  fair  Ariadne's  Crown 
Out  of  the  sky  had  fallen  down ; 
Maidens  within  whose  tender  breasts 
A  thousand  restless  hopes  and  fears, 
Forth  reaching  to  the  coming  years, 
Flutter  awhile,  then  quiet  lie, 
Like  timid  birds  that  fain  would  fly, 
But  do  not  dare  to  leave  their  nests ;  — 
And  youths,  who  in  their  strength  elate 
Challenge  the  van  and  front  of  fate, 
Eager  as  champions  to  be 
In  the  divine  knight-errantry 
Of  youth,  that  travels  sea  and  land 
Seeking  adventures,  or  pursues, 
Through  cities,  and  through  solitudes 


-  - 


Frequented  by  the  lyric  Muse, 

The  phantom  with  the  beckoning  hand, 

That  still  allures  and  still  eludes. 

O  sweet  illusions  of  the  brain ! 

O  sudden  thrills  of  fire  and  frost ! 

The  world  is  bright  while  ye  remain, 

And  dark  and  dead  when  ye  are  lost ! 


HE  meadow-brook,  that  seem- 

eth  to  stand  still, 

Quickens  its  current  as  it  nears 

the  mill ; 

And  so  the  stream  of  Time  that  lingereth 
In  level  places,  and  so  dull  appears, 
Runs  with  a  swifter  current  as  it  nears 
The  gloomy  mills  of  Death. 


ND  now,  like  the  magician's  scroll, 
That  in  the  owner's  keeping  shrinks 
With  every  wish  he  speaks  or  thinks, 
Till  the  last  wish  consumes  the  whole, 
The  table  dwindles,  and  again 
I  see  the  two  alone  remain. 
The  crown  of  stars  is  broken  in  parts  ; 
Its  jewels,  brighter  than  the  day, 
Have  one  by  one  been  stolen  away 
To  shine  in  other  homes  and  hearts. 
One  is  a  wanderer  now  afar 
In  Ceylon  or  in  Zanzibar, 
Or  sunny  regions  of  Cathay  ; 
And  one  is  in  the  boisterous  camp 
Mid  clink  of  arms  and  horses'  tramp, 
And  battle's  terrible  array. 


I  see  the  patient  mother  read, 

With  aching  heart,  of  wrecks  that  float 

Disabled  on  those  seas  remote, 

Or  of  some  great  heroic  deed 

On  battle-fields,  where  thousands  bleed 

To  lift  one  hero  into  fame. 

Anxious  she  'bends  her  graceful  head 

Above  these  chronicles  of  pain, 

And  trembles  with  a  secret  dread 

Lest  there  among  the  drowned  or  slain 

She  find  the  one  beloved  name. 


FTER    a     day    of    cloud    and 

wind  and  rain 

Sometimes     the     setting     sun 

breaks  out  again, 
And,    touching    all    the    darksome    woods 
with  light, 

Smiles  on   the  fields,   until   they  laugh  and 
sing, 

Then  like  a  ruby  from  the  horizon's  ring 
Drops  down  into  the  night. 


HAT  see  I  now  ?    The  night  is  fair, 
The  storm  of  grief,  the  clouds  of  care, 
The  wind,  the  rain,  have  passed  away ; 
The  lamps  are  lit,  the  fires  burn  bright, 
The  house  is  full  of  life  and  light ; 
It  is  the  Golden  Wedding  day. 
The  guests  come  thronging  in  once  more, 
Quick  footsteps  sound  along  the  floor, 
The  trooping  children  crowd  the  stair, 
And  in  and  out  and  everywhere 
Flashes  along  the  corridor 
The  sunshine  of  their  golden  hair. 


On  the  round  table  in  the  hall 
Another  Ariadne's  Crown 
Out  of  the  sky  hath  fallen  down ; 
More  than  one  Monarch  of  the  Moon 
Is  drumming  with  his  silver  spoon; 
The  light  of  love  shines  over  all. 


FORTUNATE,  O  happy  day  ! 
The  people  sing,  the  people  say. 
The  ancient  bridegroom  and  the  bride, 
Smiling  contented  and  serene 
Upon  the  blithe,  bewildering  scene, 
Behold,  well  pleased,  on  every  side 
Their  forms  and  features  multiplied, 
As  the  reflection  of  a  light 
Between  two  burnished  mirrors  gleams, 
Or  lamps  upon  a  bridge  at  night 
Stretch  on  and  on  before  the  sight, 
Till  the  long  vista  endless  seems. 


Uitoerstoe  press,  CambriDge 


A    000161  116 


